The Silent Observer
by Iamepical
Summary: It is summer and Archie watches his two beloved daughters play. One-shot.


**Thought I would attempt this in first person seeing as I usually avoid due to hatred xD Sorry in advance for suckiness! It is from Archie's point of view one summer as he watches his daughters play in the garden.**

**Rated for suggestions of child abuse, obsession and just general creepiness. Don't like, don't read.**

It's summer and the light catches their hair in golden ribbons. Heat scolds their bare flesh, but neither of them notice the red blotches creeping up their arms. They run with joyous smiles brightening their faces, the smaller girl trotting after her older sister but not able to keep up, eyes tilted towards the sun as they allow the light to touch them: on their faces, the backs of their necks. The heat burns the grass where they play, but neither girl cares, both too caught up in the rush of the moment.

It is summer, and I watch them play from the kitchen window. I imagine what it would feel like hold them against me now, smooth skin against rough, child against adult and the first ripple of excitement flutters deep inside my stomach. My little girls have always loved the sun and I have always loved watching them play, thinking of how I want to betray that innocence only children posses. Veronica is ten, so close to growing up and so badly wanting to but not quite there, Roxanne six. I laugh inwardly as my eldest daughter throws her head back over her shoulder checking on her little sister to ensure she is still following like a lost puppy but can't quite catch up. They are just two girls enjoying the high of summer, believing they are invisible because they so caught up in playing.

But they are not invisible; they are never invisible.

A good father never lets his child out of sight and I am no exception.

I am always a silent observer of my two girls. I imagine all the things I want to do to them; I hear their laughter; I watch them and inhale every detail of them.

Veronica loves attention, has done since she was young enough to understand what it was and she adores the affection Roxanne lavishes upon her. She runs with confidence, head held high, skinny arms swinging in rhythm beside her. One of the straps on her white flowered sundress is twisted. The dress is tight and it presses against her body; beneath it I can envisage, almost see, the beginnings of two small breasts attempting to bloom. I think of running my hands over that small, beautiful body and feel myself shiver in delight. She isn't wearing shoes. Her mouth is wide and she has a pretty smile, a trace of lipstick her mother forced her to remove remaining at the corners. Sparkling in the light, her eyes are bright and unaffected by the worlds' miseries, already quietly confidents and proud.

She raises an arm and squints, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. Roxy catches up seconds later and throws her arms around her sister's waist, almost sending her flying. In a fluid motion, she brushes back her fringe that's glued to her forehead as she giggles, patting Roxanne fondly on the top of her head. I have memorized each feature of my Veronica perfectly, so that now I don't even have to think about it in order to strip her bare in my mind. In an instant I can pull forth the sweet child in a dress with blonde hair like silk falling over her shoulders, a scattering of freckles dancing on her nose and I can make her vulnerable, make her mine.

I know the rest of her body as well as I know my own too, the secret parts beneath the clothing that are supposed to be preserved from view until she is older. Why shouldn't her father be allowed to see her first, touch her first? How can something so undeniably wrong feel so right? I am the one who has looked after her, raised her and to me it makes perfect sense that I should be the first to be allowed to love her; it is only natural I should want to share a special secret with my favourite little daughter. Night times are the best when she goes in the bath, when I can watch her through the camera installed in the corner of the room. I imagine I am lying with her as the water ripples her flat stomach and keeps her hair afloat like an angel's halo; I imagine I am hugging my baby close to my chest and making her do all the things I want her to. She is so full of love for her daddy, so easy to manipulate and I just know that soon she will be thrilled to know her daddy loves her just as much.

I continue to observe her, my eyes following her eagerly around the garden as the pit of love and desire churns painfully inside my heart. Her dress flaps around her ankles and catches in the crease between her smooth, round buttocks. When she was smaller, Roxanne's age, I would sit her on my knee, tickle her body so I could run my hands the full length of her body without anyone suspecting that I was anything more than a father playing with his child.

Sometimes I would sit beside her at night while she watched TV, my thigh touching hers, the press of her warm flesh exhilarating. I would sit beside Roxanne too, but it isn't quite the same. There is something about Veronica that makes her special; something that both thrills and frightens me, something that can only be stamped out by my practiced hand of love. Perhaps it is the stubbornness I love and hate, or the daring way she holds your gaze. I am not sure, but I know that I love her more than anything and need to control her so no one can ever take her from me.

In the garden, she senses eyes on her and turns to give me smile as bright as the sun. Pushing her hair behind her ears, suspecting nothing, she turns away again and I marvel at the pretty way she throws her head back to laugh as Roxanne tags her unawares from behind.

It is summer time and I imagine, listen, watch. Always the silent observer; always watching from the shadows, loving them, wanting them, but never letting my true feelings show.

Until now.

Veronica is old enough to understand how much I love her now and she will adore a secret smile, a secret touch between us. I know she will.

Roxanne isn't old enough yet. But she will be soon.

Now, the desire roaring inside of me is too much to stand and the hairs rise in excitement on my arms, a chill of joy creeping up my spine.

No longer will I imagine from the darkness.

It is time.

"Veronica, come here, darling," I call, shuddering in anticipation as I open the kitchen door.

Obediently, she trots over with a smile and a question in her blue eyes. Roxanne stares after her, eyes wide and innocent.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Do you want to come inside and play a game?"

**Hope I didn't weird anyone out too much! Well, Archie's mind was a weird place to be xD Please review and tell me what went right and what didn't. Criticism is much appreciated (:**


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